Braydon's fists were bloodied.
Not from battle — from training.
From Riven's command.
Again and again, he drove his knuckles into the stone slab. Every punch split skin. Every breath came sharper than the last. But he didn't cry out.
He wouldn't give Riven that.
The older man stood nearby, arms crossed, face unreadable.
"You want to be strong," Riven said calmly. "But strength isn't a power. It's a choice."
Braydon spat to the side, blood and grit. "I'm not scared."
"No," Riven said. "You're angry. There's a difference."
With a wave of his hand, the ground behind him cracked open. A twisted figure — some kind of beast made of shadows and bone — slithered free, its body hissing like steam against stone.
Braydon stepped back.
Riven didn't flinch. "Kill it."
Braydon hesitated.
The creature's head turned, its jaw unhinging into a rasping moan — like it was in pain.
"I said kill it."
Braydon summoned his power — focused. The air around him shifted. He pulled at it, lifted it — and the creature rose off the ground, limbs flailing.
He looked at Riven.
"Drop it," Riven said. "Hard."
Braydon's hand trembled.
He saw flashes of his friends. Pate. KJ. Elizabeth. Shoto.
Would they hesitate?
Would they hate him for this?
He closed his fist.
The creature hit the stone with a sickening crunch.
It didn't move again.
Riven stepped forward. "You felt that, didn't you? Not fear. Not guilt."
Braydon looked down at the broken body.
He didn't answer.
Riven placed a hand on his shoulder. "You are not like the others. That's why I chose you."
For a moment… Braydon believed him.
And that was the most dangerous part.